Thus Spake the Bard

“Now see this knight,” said Sir Godfrey, “he holdeth his shield too squarely. One should angle it outward, to deflect the lance tip in passing.” Just then the knight and his opponent clapped shut their visors and spurred their mounts toward each other. They met in the middle with a great crash of ringing iron and splintering wood. Torn from his horse was the knight Sir Godfrey had indicated, to lie still on his backside in the mud, his proud charger trotting on without him. “Lo,” exclaimed Allan, “’tis just what thou fearest, sire! The lance tip did bounce from the shield and smite him in the breast.” “It could bounce hither on one joust and thither the next,” said Godfrey. “‘Tis lucky for him only trident tips are used at this tourney. A war tip would have skewered him aloft.” Whilst squires ran to attend the unconscious knight, the victor rode on to fetch a new lance. Then did he wheel his white charger about, lifting his visor, to survey his fell handiwork. A jester leapt up to the center benches where the presiding lord sat with his lady, and did then entertain with tricks and dances whilst litter bearers drug the fallen knight to his tent. The victorious knight rode past the tents of his fellow competitors, chose one, then struck the shield with his lance. “He hath made some six passes with lance already,” said Boudvaar, “besting as many knights. And he challengeth more?” “His steed resteth whilst the gurney bear his victims away,” said Godfrey. The tent veil parted as its knight emerged to descry his challenger. Then did he fetch his shield down from the pole and beckon his squires. “Who is that audacious knight, sire?” Allan asked, gaze fixed on the rider of the white charger. Godfrey squinted to identify the knight’s standard. “Afore have I seen him, for many a tournament hath he tilted in.” Then gazed he scoldingly upon Boudvaar. “And many a melee has he fought. But his name escapeth me.” “And me,” said Boudvaar, “for I have seen him elsewhere a’jousting also. The challenged knight clambered upon the saddle of his dappled mount, where helm was buckled in place. “I know not his coat-of-arms,” said Allan, still speaking of the knight upon the white charger. “I hear he cometh from across the sea,” said Godfrey. “Or peradventure from beside a great loch… I remember not.” “Surely is he not Frankish, then?” said Allan, vexed of the Normans. “Yea, methinks. And he striveth to win the king’s favor, that he may fight beside we Britons in the coming war.” That Sir Godfrey counted himself a Briton was some consolation to Allan. The knights faced each other across an expanse measuring fourscore yards. Down went visors. Spurs dug into horse flanks. The two warhorses galloped toward each other. Godfrey elbowed Boudvaar. “Behold how the Frank wields the lance: One smooth arcing motion as his charger sprints. The butt slipeth the cradle only an instant before the tilt. He swingeth the lance tip across the rail at the very last…” There resounded another terrific clamor of splintering wood. The knights rode past one another dropping their shattered lances, seized new ones, then wheeled their steeds about to charge again. “Behold: Not one movement doth he waste,” said Godfrey. “The lance falleth; he merely guideth the butt into the cradle and the tip across the rail.” They watched as the Frank did what Godfrey described. His lance tip swung to target just in time for impact. Both lances found their mark. Both knights were jolted as lance drove shield inward before breaking. Neither were unhorsed. “Is that not the standard of the Scathelocke?” Asked Allan. “The foreigner tilts against Sir William, then.” Sir Godfrey nodded. “A poor family, is Scathelocke. Hungry knights can scarcely afford to lose a horse. Watch ye now, Boudvaar, the manner in which both these knights hold the shield.” Twice more did the knights tilt, neither being unhorsed. Sir William of Scathelocke failing to break the lance on one pass, the Frank won on points and advanced in tourney. With the advantage of noble seating and a bonny day’s weather, Allan’s muse filled his mind to running over. He found inspiration in every armored knight, each trotting charger and in the towers of the stone castle overlooking the fields of tournament. At day’s end only the Frank and three other knights remained in the lists; and he seemed as strong as any. “He hath good chance of winning, on the morrow,” said Sir Godfrey. “If only he were a Briton,” thought Allan aloud. “Why seeketh he the king’s favor?” asked Boudvaar. “Why doth he wish to war against his own countrymen?” Godfrey shrugged. “Peradventure he reckoneth our king the just and honorable one in this struggle. More likely, he hath his own axe to grind—contested estates, peradventure, he hopeth to claim should his gamble pay off and Edward triumph over Philippe.” “Never have I seen such prowess in the joust,” said Boudvaar. “Must he be of great and honorable heart, this Frank.” “Nay,” said Godfrey. “Must he practice with horse and lance a lot.”